


The Glitter Glue Factory

by seeminglyincurablesentimentality (myinnerchildisbored)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Play, And Now For Something Completely Different, Experiment, coming of age story, people connecting with people, the alikeness of strangers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:55:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27451603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myinnerchildisbored/pseuds/seeminglyincurablesentimentality
Summary: So, this is something completely unrelated...well...relatively speaking, literally speaking...to any of the other fics I have up on here. This is an original work that's been brewing for a while, conceptually speaking. I hope that road testing it here (with all you amazing readers) will be as motivating as it will be helpful. I don't know if this will go anywhere. I'd like it to.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	The Glitter Glue Factory

**Author's Note:**

> Right. I wrote this in the last hour. It is not proofread. It's going up because I am self-indulgent. Please comment the hell out of this.   
> (also, hope everyone is well and making it through this fucker of a year.)

Suppose you came across a unicorn.   
  
There you’d be, walking through the woods. It would have to be the woods, wouldn’t it? Or could it be the street? It would in either case have to be otherwise deserted; so that you wouldn’t be able to simply turn to the person next to you. _Excuse me, sir, but do my eyes deceive me or is that in fact a unicorn over there by the brambles/traffic cone?_  
  
Or does it perhaps not matter, the presence of witnesses? Is this perhaps one of those situations when you would never even consider asking another person whether they saw the same as you, because for fear of being a) mistaken and b) outing yourself as the sort of complete weirdo, who hallucinates unicorns on the way to the bakery?   
  
Quite aside from this question of whether or not it would be preferential to have people to share the unicorn sighting with; quite aside from the question of whether or not you would have the nerve to speak up; quite aside from all of this, it might pay to consider the behaviour of the unicorn itself.   
  
Is it standing still? Is it in full gallop? Does it remain visible for more than a fleeting catch out of the corner of your eye? Do you just get to stand there, gaping at this unicorn; or are you doubting what you saw a split second after seeing it, because it has already disappeared? Did you perhaps see this unicorn out of the window of one of those Japanese highspeed trains?   
  
Actually, all of this is inconsequential.  
  
Let’s try this again.

Suppose you came across a unicorn.   
You wouldn’t really trust in was there, would you.   
One alleged unicorn sighting, no firm believe in unicorns makes.

Everyone’s got a unicorn.   
  
Some, we share.   
  
New mothers, for example, when sitting together discussing one another’s children will apply the term ‘unicorn’ to all sorts of children. Children, who sleep through the night. Children, who willingly eat whatever is put in front of them. Children, who put on their shoes after being instructed _once_.   
To use in a dialogue context:  
  
“Jennifer just brushes her teeth, I don’t even have to remind her.”  
  
“Man, she’s a unicorn.”  
  
Men, who remember anniversaries, do the dishes and display their emotions eloquently, maturely and considerately.  
  
Bosses, who offer the kind of flexibility they promised in the job advert for real life.  
  
Used cars that never break down.  
  
Babysitters, who not only shout the children a good time but are also always available and will casually put through a load of washing.  
  
Unicorns, all of them.   
  
  
(In German, there’s a fun word for this. _Wollmilchsau._ Literal translation: _wool-milk-sow_. It will clothes you, feed you and quench your thirst. It’s the answer to nearly all your needs. And it’s unattainable. Because it doesn’t exist. Obviously. Like unicorns.)  
  


But now suppose you came across that same unicorn again. You can tell it’s the same one from the distinctive trout shaped glitter-mark on it’s pure white flank. Or maybe from the bear claw scrape scars on it’s dirty-brown hindquarters; depending on the sort of unicorn you have in mind. It’s there again. And then again.   
  
Actually, perhaps the best allegory is the unicorn spotted in passing on a familiar street. Like on your way to work or something.   
  
Every other morning, around about 8.30 am, as you go past the park by the transit centre on the bus, there’s this unicorn. Grazing on the decorative pansies next to fountain. Drinking from said fountain. Sheltering under the trees from the rain. But by the time you’ve registered and blinked, you’ve gone past and the unicorn is out of sight. You don’t want to risk being late for work by getting off the bus and running back to check. Firstly, you’re pretty confident that unicorns aren’t real. Whatever you’ve seen can’t possibly have been a unicorn, no matter how much it might have resembled one. Secondly, if there was a unicorn, a real one, then what the fuck are you supposed to do next?   
  
So, you keep going and spend a day at the desk or behind the coffee machine or folding up T-shirt with cartoon character prints. Business as usual. But the unicorn does skirt the periphery of your mind. All the time.   
  
Before long, you’re watching for the unicorn before the bus has even rounded the corner at the top of the road, before the transit centre is even in sight. You choose your seat on the bus specifically to get a good angle on the unicorn, should it be there. You strain your eyes to see as soon as the park comes into view. Sometimes your heart lurches at a shadow on the far side, only for it to reveal itself as three drunks having a slow brawl. Makes you feel stupid for even considering the possibility of a unicorn, that kind of stuff.

But then, a few days later, there it is again. Clear as day. The unicorn.

Suppose now, that you’ve spent the all your life – on and off – longing for something. A something so specific, seemingly, to you; a something so weird, in your opinion, that you could never ever openly ask for it. A something that it seemed ridiculous to even want. Your shameful secret. Your guilty-pleasure fantasy.   
  
Now suppose it just shows up.  
  


~*~

The first unicorn sighting takes place on either side of a decrepit ute.  
  
“You’ve got to tuck your flaps in properly when you’re planning on going on the highway. It’s no laughing matter, young lady.”  
  
It makes her smile. Secondly, because it’s funny, juvenile, yea, but funny, to have a dude tell anyone to tuck their flaps in. Firstly, because this is patronizing in the best way.   
  
Deep inside her, a twelve-year-old girl flares up. Outside, in the real world, a grown woman rolls her eyes. It goes unnoticed, she thinks it does.   
  
  
That’s it.   
  
It’s nothing. Nothing at all. But she’ll think about it again, riding shotgun in the ute, tarp tucked unflapping. She’ll think about it again a few days later as she’s making her kids’ lunchboxes. She’ll still be thinking about it a month later. And it’ll still make her smile.


End file.
